Pretty Little Lies
by Saber Wing
Summary: Gwendal von Voltaire was not a sentimental man. In all of his years, he had simply seen too much to be so.


_**Author's Note: **_Hey there, everyone! (waves) This is my first fanfic for KKM, but it won't be the last, because I love it to death. I've seen a lot of anime over the years, but I can honestly say, this is one of my all time favorites. The characters are so engaging, and the story is everything I love packed into one. Spoilers further on, including in this note.

This piece is an introspective one, from Gwendal's point of view. I wondered how he really handled Conrad's "death" when no one was around, and he no longer had to keep up the tough guy facade. He and Conrad are my favorite characters, so I felt compelled to write this. I hope you enjoy it ^_^.

I don't own Kyo Kara Maoh. Honestly, after all the stories I've written, the disclaimer is getting rather redundant =p

**Pretty Little Lies**

**By: Angel Wings-008**

Gwendal von Voltaire was not a sentimental man. In all of his years, he had simply seen too much to be so.

Therefore, he certainly wasn't here to wallow in misery. As he stood in front of the familiar desk wrought of simple wood, his emotions were perfectly under control; his face, as flawless and smooth as ever. The faintest traces of light flickered around him, illuminating the darkened room just enough to give life to the eerie shadows that danced along the walls. He was paying tribute to his younger brother, in order to honor his sacrifice. As the eldest, it was his duty. Nothing more, nothing less.

Perhaps if he told himself that enough times, it would start to sink in.

There was no other choice in the matter. Personal feelings were but a hindrance at this point, when there was so much to be done, so much to worry over and accomplish. He must be steady and strong...the driving force of Shin Makoku.

Gwendal was, after all, the very foundation of Covenant Castle. He wasn't trying to be arrogant, and he wouldn't go as far as to say the entire kingdom, but it was the truth as he and many others knew it. The reason everything ran as smoothly as it did was because Gwendal oversaw it. He expected nothing less than the best, and he would treat every situation he was faced with as an issue no more or less important than the other, unless there were special circumstances, of course. In order for everything to be kept running perfectly, a firm, disciplined hand was needed. If his was the one that would do the trick, than so be it. As a result, he had to be sure he was always on top of things, especially with such a young, troublesome king on the throne.

When their country and their people were at war, Gwendal was there to call in the troops and lead them toward a steady victory. When anyone under his supervision slacked off in the slightest, Gwendal was there to whip them into shape and order them to get moving, because no one was going to do their job for them. When the paperwork started piling up, and Yuuri was off on one of his various excursions, Gwendal was there to pick up the slack. It was as natural as breathing to him, and it would never change. If faced with a choice, he wouldn't have it any other way.

He didn't know the meaning of the word "halfhearted." Whenever he set his mind to completing a task, he always did it using every ounce of strength he possessed. Whether it be protecting his king from their numerous adversaries, or knitting a new stuffed animal for Greta, it was important, and it was a task that must be carried out. Once he started something, he never stopped until he achieved his goal. Some would call him stubborn; others would say he was downright impossible to deal with.

He knew all of these things and more, and he supposed it would be a pathetic failing if he didn't. How could a man who didn't know himself handle all of the responsibilities of a noble of his standing? That would be preposterous indeed. He took pride in the person he was...that was why he wasn't prepared for such a feeling of disgrace.

Gwendal was the mountain of Shin Makoku; steady, strong, loyal...a force to be reckoned with. He was ruthless where he needed to be, fearless in the face of all opposition, reliable when everyone else was too rattled to be. He was the man who moved ever forward, dismissive of the past, mindful of the future. He was so many things and more, and yet for all that he was, after all he had accomplished in his long life, he had still failed to come through where it counted the most.

Emotions were not something he spent a lot of time dwelling on, and he'd been determined to keep it so. Conrart had lived his life as he'd seen fit, and he had died upholding the honor he held so close to his heart. The choices he had made were his and his alone, and there was nothing Gwendal could do about that. He should simply take pride in his younger brother's actions, and move on with his life; instead his thoughts were heavy, and his heart was filled with shame.

Almost blindly, he reached forward, gently placing his hand upon the cold metal container in front of him. He would have liked to say he wasn't shaking, but that would be a blatant lie.

One thousand moments frozen in time, one thousand memories he had vowed to lock away, came rushing into his head with the force of a tidal wave, and despite the fact that he knew Conrart was never coming back, despite the calm, logical voice echoing in his head, Gwendal almost wanted to reach out and touch the phantom he saw in the visions in front of him.

All at once, he was a child and a man, a brother and a noble, an enemy and a friend. All at once, he saw everything; Conrart marching off to a battle he would probably never escape. Conrart smiling as he held a newborn Wolfram in a tender embrace. Conrart collapsing into Gwendal's arms, finally realizing that his father was dead, and he was never coming back for him again. Conrart screaming in the middle of the night, refusing to calm down until he sang him to sleep.

The onslaught continued to batter him as it raged within his soul, and Gwendal bowed his head, resisting the urge to rest it wearily upon the desk. Right now, it seemed the heaviest thing in the world, and he could do naught to hold it up. Had he ever felt this tired? Truly, it was hard to say.

Almost of its own accord, his hand crept along the surface of that _dreadful _excuse for a casket, curling around the outer edge, grip so tight, it could almost be called desperate. Eyes narrowed, jaw clenched tight, he could only stand tall with his head bowed toward the ground; a living contradiction...a strong man at his weakest. A single tear carved a path down his cheek, and the proud Mazoku didn't even bother to resist. What did it matter? The least he could do now was face the truth. Who the hell was he kidding? This was no place for pretty little lies.

Gwendal von Voltaire was not a sentimental man, but that didn't stop the pain...

Even mountains crumble just a little in the rain.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aww...my poor Gwendal ;_; I love writing pieces like this. It helps even me understand them better, because after awhile, the story takes on a life of its own and shows me the way. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Reviews are always appreciated.


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